


stagazing

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [35]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, season 4 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: In which Quentin comforts Eliot.





	stagazing

> Eliot wakes up to Quentin leaning over him, a soft, sad smile on his lips. He wants to be angry for being woken up, but then Quentin moves away, and he can’t help but sit up. And then Quentin’s hold a hand out to him, eyes hiding something tht Eliot can’t quite decipher. But, as always, he can’t really say no to Quentin, so he takes his hand, and allows himself to be lead through the Physical Kids cottage, through the backyard, and across campus, until they’re right there where they met for the first time.
> 
> He doesn’t realize Quentin has a blanket, until he silent lets go of Eliot’s hand and flaps it open until it falls flat against the grass, right in front of the stone BRAKEBILLS sign, Eliot spent twenty minutes trying to get the perfect pose all the months ago on. Eliot blinks down at the blanket, sleepily looking between it and Quentin.
> 
> But, Quentin wordlessly sits down on the blanket, and then lies on his back. When Eliot doesn’t move, Quentin motions for him to lie down next to him with a gentle pat on the blanket, right next to him.
> 
> It’s been a hard couple months for them. Ever since they rid Eliot of the monsters, and he had to face what he did to Quentin–and to the others. But mostly to Quentin. The torture. The misery. God, Quentin still has pink scars along his back and arms from when the monster used Eliot’s body to singe him, and hit him. Eliot can barely understand why Quentin doesn’t blame him–so, so barely that he spends the days avoiding him. And the nights filled with nightmares, reliving something he couldn’t stop.
> 
> But he can’t say no to that look in Quentin’s eyes, and he moves to lie down next to him, leaving a few inches between them.
> 
> Quentin closes the space between them before Eliot can even take his first, settled breath on the blanket.
> 
> They lie, touching from shoulders to toes, staring up at nothing, for a few long minutes before Eliot sighs, and turns his head to look at Quentin. “What are are doing?” He asks, quiet. Too quiet. He’s not sure why he’s whispeting.
> 
> Maybe he thinks its another nightmare. And Quentin’s going to burst into flames. Or Quentin’s the monster this time.
> 
> Neither thing happens, though.
> 
> Quentin just turns to look at him, all soft. All kind. Eliot thinks he knows what the look in his eyes is now, and he can’t take it. He turns to look back at the sky.
> 
> “We’re stargazing,” Quentin says anyways. He lifts one hand to point up at the sky, where  a cluster of clouds appear from behind a cloud. Eliot can’t help but wonder if Quentin’s casting the clouds away to make the stars appear. “I don’t know what it’s called, but that’s a constellation.”
> 
> That forces an unexpected laugh out of Eliot, and he turns to look at him again. “Seriously?”
> 
> The corners of Quentins lip twitch upwards, and he nods. “I take constellations very seriously.”
> 
> “Oh, I can tell.”
> 
> It’s so easy, falling back into this pattern of knowing him. Of–of loving him.
> 
> It’s so easy his heart pangs, and he’s tempted to stand up.
> 
> Quentin must sense the tension in his muscles, because his hand comes down and grasps Eliot’s tightly. “Don’t go,” He says, quietly. Even softer than Eliot’s speaking. Like if he says it too loud, it’ll scare him away.
> 
> Eliot freezes, before his muscles relax, and he tentatively laces his fingers through Quentins. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”
> 
> Quentin turns to look at him again, eyelashes fluttering. “Promise?” He asks.
> 
> And, Eliot’s never been able to resist him. Not when he’s looking at him like that. He nods, once. Then twice, and again, because he can’t stop getting lost in that look in Quentin’s eyes, and he’s not sure if he’s respnded yet.
> 
> “Yeah,” He chokes out, “I promise, Q.”
> 
> Quentin smiles, full on, and looks back up at the sky. “There’s a belt up there somewhere,” He says, tone almost teasing, but erring on the side of caution, “I know how much you love to accessorize. Thought I’d mention it.”
> 
> “Where is it?”
> 
> Quentin shrugs. “Hell if I know.”
> 
> Eliot laughs again, pulling Quentin’s hand in closers to himself. Forgetting the fear of hurting him for a moment. “Wow,” He chuckles, “You really know your constellations.”
> 
> “Told you so.” Quentin looks back at him, eyes glimmering with something–tears, maybe? “El,” He says, rolling over onto his side, and holding their hands in between them. He doesn’t wait for Eliot to respond before barelling on–a typical Quentin move. “I know about the nightmares.”
> 
> Eliot freezes again. “I don’t–”
> 
> “It’s not your fault,” Quentin continues, as if Eliot hadn’t spoken at all. “And I’ll drag you out here every night to laugh at my bullshit knowledge of stars if it means keeping you from seeing what he did night in and out.” He rolls back onto his back, voice soft again, as he adds, “It wasn’t you. I never saw it as you. I don’t blame you.”
> 
> “But I do.”
> 
> Quentin shakes his head, that familiar sad smile replacing the jovial one. “Well,” He says, turning to look at Eliot again. “I guess we’ll be out here all night.”
> 
> He’s tempted to argue, to rip his hand from Quentin’s and stomp all the way back to the cottage. To pretending none of this happened, and go back to avoiding him. Because avoiding all of this is somehow so much easier than facing it head on. But that means letting him go.
> 
> And that’s even harder than avoiding him.
> 
> “Okay,” He says instead. He’s surprise the way his voice comes out choked off. Quentin doesn’t seem to be, he just squeezes Eliot’s hand and pretends not to hear it. Gives Eliot what he needs right then.
> 
> “Okay,” Quentin echoes. “Look, there’s some kind of dog constellation up there, too.”
> 
> They eventually fall asleep there, under the stars, on the blanket, out in the open for anyone to see.
> 
> But for once, he doesn’t dream of blood and torture. Doesn’t wake up muting his screams.

 


End file.
